


Dance Little Liar

by cq2



Series: Stripper AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coercion (sort of) with drug use in chapter two, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Multi, PWP, Stripper AU, Stripping, Threesome - M/M/M, Very dysfunctional fuckbuddy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29037843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cq2/pseuds/cq2
Summary: Mont comes in from a door to his right. “You’re late.”“Sorry, I didn’t want to come,” Enjolras deadpans.“You won’t be saying that later,” Grantaire takes the cheap shot.In which a nervous Enjolras meets Grantaire and Mont in a hotel room. Sexcapades ensue.Nearly PWP, and can be read as a standalone or part of the Stripper AU. Same universe, less stripping, more sex.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire/Montparnasse
Series: Stripper AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975720
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Dance Little Liar_ by Arctic Monkeys.

“Thenardier,” Enjolras gives the name to the young woman behind the front desk. He isn’t sure why Mont gave Eponine’s surname. He wanted to ask if Eponine booked the room herself, or more likely, if Mont has a fake ID for such situations as booking a hotel room for clandestine meet ups. Or maybe for selling drugs? Enjolras doesn’t really know how that works, and he’s decided not to ask because he’d really rather not find out. 

The woman types away on her computer. “ID?” She asks without looking up from the screen. 

“I should be on the approved list of guests,” he says, handing over his student ID. He made sure to arrive late (nearly half an hour to be safe, since Grantaire can be counted on to be no less than 15 minutes late on any given day), so he wouldn’t run into either of them in the lobby. If anyone saw his college ID, he’d be so fucked. And not the good kind of fucked. Or, well, maybe good isn’t the right word. Whatever kind he’s in for today. Semantics. Either way, he _really_ needs to get a driver’s license. 

The woman hands back his ID along with a card with four numbers printed in neat script. “You’re all set. Mr. Thenardier is in room 805, would you like me to ring the room to announce your arrival?” She asks.

“No, that’s alright, he’s expecting me. Thanks,” he says, heading off towards the elevators. He passes through the massive multi-story lobby. The light from the crystal chandelier bounces off the marble under his feet. He stayed in a lot of hotels while looking at colleges, but never this one. There’s no way in hell he could afford it. Which makes him wonder how Mont did. Another question he doesn’t want answered. 

When he steps into the elevator and presses the button for the eighth floor, he checks his reflection in the mirrored walls. He’s dressed for a lecture he had this morning, just jeans and a henley. He still has his backpack. He looks distinctly out of place in this hotel- and he’s sure the concierge thought so as well. He tries in vain to smooth back a rogue curl. No point really, it’ll be properly tousled within a few minutes. He gives up when a cool female voice announces his floor. 

It doesn’t take long to find the room. There aren’t many rooms on the floor at all, and for such a large building, he figures that means the rooms must be pretty big. 

He stands outside the huge double doors marked 805. _What the fuck am I doing here?_ He wonders. This is a new step in their- whatever it is they’re doing. Up until now it’s all been in the club after it’s closed, or one time in the back of Grantaire’s car. Buying a night in a fancy hotel just so they can get fucked up and mess around? He figures that’s about as close as Mont can come to a romantic gesture, honestly.

This time he can’t pretend he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s easy to tell himself he just stumbled into all of it before. They were there, he was there, it was easy. A mistake. This is premeditated. Mont told him last night, and he thought about it, and got on a bus and came here and checked in. This is a whole new level of fucked up. Once he walks through those doors, he has to admit that he’s made a conscious decision to do it. 

He could just not go in. It’s totally an option. He could turn around right now and go back down the elevators and through the expensive lobby and get back on the bus he took to get here. Go back to his dorm room and eat in the dining hall and do his homework and go to bed at a reasonable hour. 

But he knows he’s not going to do that. 

He closes his eyes and takes a breath. He looks down at the card the concierge gave him. He types the numbers into the electronic keypad above the door handle. It blinks green, and he hears the mechanical lock click open. He takes another breath and opens the door. 

“Okay,” he sighs, closing the door behind him and dropping his backpack at his feet, “let’s get this over with.”

He’s feeling fully resigned to his choice, until he looks around. He was so, so wrong. The room is not _pretty big._ It’s fucking massive. He can’t even tell how massive, because he’s in an entryway that opens into a living space which has multiple doors leading into other rooms. 

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” Grantaire says, smirking at a very stricken Enjolras. He’s lounging on a velvet chaise near the floor to ceiling windows that look over the city. He can’t imagine what the view would look like in the daylight. There’s silence as he tries to take in the size of the room. 

And then it occurs to him that none of them properly know each other. The closest would be Mont and Enjolras, but it’s always been poorly hidden disdain for one another prior to the last few weeks. And since then, it’s all been drugs and sex and little to no conversation. Enjolras didn’t think to prepare himself for this part. The pause between the two of them drags.

Enjolras turns around and realizes the living space is two stories, and there’s a sweeping wooden staircase to his left. A staircase. In a hotel room. Or, _rooms._

“Is this a joke?” He asks, breaking the silence. Before Grantaire can answer, Mont comes in from a door to his right.

“You’re late.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to come,” Enjolras deadpans. 

“You won’t be saying that later,” Grantaire takes the cheap shot. He laughs at his own joke, and there’s a weird sense of camaraderie when Mont and Enjolras meet each other’s gaze and Mont rolls his eyes. 

“Charming,” Enjolras says, and any awkwardness in the room fades. He wanders further into the space, eyeing the balcony overlooking the living room. He can see past the door Mont came from now, and it’s a modern looking kitchen. Someone could live here permanently. 

“How did you afford this place?” Enjolras finally asks, because he can’t hold it in any longer. 

“I didn’t,” Mont says simply. He crosses the room and sits in a plush armchair across from Grantaire, nose buried in his phone. The other two stare at him. “Oh my god,” he says, looking up when the silence lasts too long. “It’s not like I’m scamming them. The guy who owns the hotel owes me a few favors,” he says, shrugging. 

“You say that like it should’ve been obvious,” Grantaire says. “Actually, I don’t want to know anything else,” he decides, and Enjolras is more than fine with that. 

“As long as we aren’t doing anything illegal,” Enjolras agrees. 

“We aren’t,” Mont sounds a little offended. “But we can, if you want to,” he suggests, and that’s why no one takes him seriously when he says he isn’t doing anything illegal. 

“I’ve been here all of three minutes-“ 

“Yeah,” Mont interrupts Enjolras, “but it’s your fault that we’ve been waiting for half an hour. You’re lucky we didn’t start without you.”

“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use,” Enjolras says, and Mont actually looks a little pissed. 

“You’re so fucking-“ Mont starts. 

“Boys, boys,” Grantaire stands up, his hands out in front of him. “We’re all here now, no need to argue.” 

“Oh my god, are we _five?”_ Mont asks. 

“You only get to play bouncer at the club,” Enjolras reminds him. Grantaire looks unimpressed with both of them. 

“I need a drink,” he says, heading towards the kitchen. 

“You mean you aren’t already drunk? It’s practically 9pm, congratulations,” Mont says drily and Enjolras actually snorts. He follows Grantaire into the kitchen anyway, because he could use something to drink himself if he’s going to get through this. 

Grantaire is already looking through the chrome fridge. He pulls out a wine bottle and sets about rummaging in the drawers to find a corkscrew. Enjolras hops up onto the marbled countertop and crosses his legs underneath him. 

“What’re you drinking, kid?” Grantaire asks as he pulls a wine key from a drawer next to the sink. 

“What are my choices?” He asks. He usually drinks tequila (or water) at the club, unless a client orders for him. He won’t admit he doesn’t have a huge lexicon of knowledge on alcohol, so hopefully Grantaire will point him in the right direction. 

“Pretty much whatever you want, fridge is fully stocked,” Grantaire shrugs as Mont wanders into the room, sliding onto one of the tall stools under the island. He looks at home, like he could be behind the bar at the club. Enjolras wonders why the fridge is full. He doesn’t ask.

“Make me a martini? Three olives?” Mont asks Grantaire. Grantaire takes a swig straight from the freshly opened wine bottle and sets about finding what he needs for a martini. 

“You want one?” He asks Enjolras, who wrinkles his nose in response. “Tequila soda?” Grantaire asks instead, and Enjolras shouldn’t be surprised that he knows his usual order.

“You’re so basic,” Mont says, but Grantaire takes out the tequila anyway. Mont directs him to a specific cabinet for a shaker (“How do you know where the- never mind”) and it’s not long before the three of them are well on their way to drunk. 

“Why don’t you like martini’s?” Mont asks twenty minutes later when Grantaire places his second of the evening in front of him. 

“Why _do_ you like them? They’re literally just vodka,” Enjolras says. He unfolds his legs from under him, swinging them off the edge of the countertop.

“And vermouth,” Grantaire adds. “And olives.” 

“When you’re drinking straight vodka, I don’t think the olives make a difference,” Enjolras says. 

“They complement the drink,” Mont says. “Here, try one,” he hops off his stool and carries his glass over to where Enjolras is perched. 

“No, not gonna happen,” he says, grimacing at the three olives Grantaire put on a small wooden skewer. Mont holds it up in front of him. 

“They’re not that bad,” Grantaire says, leaning against the island with the wine bottle in hand. 

“I hate you both,” Enjolras says, but he lets Mont feed him one anyway. “God, that’s awful,” he declares, chasing it with tequila. He pulls a face.

“Here, this’ll help,” Grantaire approaches the two of them, and Enjolras thinks it’s to hand him his wine bottle. Instead, he’s in front of Enjolras, and before he realizes what’s happening, he’s sliding his tongue into his mouth. Enjolras is both impressed and unnerved that it took them this long to start messing around. He was starting to consider this arrangement more like a business transaction, but they’ve been civil with each other for nearly half an hour now. The thought leaves his head when Grantaire nips at his bottom lip. Enjolras kisses him back for a moment, before smiling against his mouth. 

“You taste much better than olives,” he laughs. The tequila is going to his head. 

Grantaire puts an arm around Enjolras’ waist while he leans across him to kiss Mont. Mont responds enthusiastically, kissing Grantaire hard. And then Grantaire is turning to kiss Enjolras again. Enjolras presses himself into Grantaire, his legs wrapping around his waist. The kiss is heavy. When Grantaire finally pulls back, Enjolras doesn’t let him go. But the blonde does lean down to kiss Mont, putting a hand on his neck. 

“You,” he declares against Mont’s lips, “taste exactly like olives.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Mont tells him. 

“No fighting, only kissing,” Grantaire demands, pulling Mont into him. The three of them are thoroughly tangled up in each other by now. Mont has one hand on Grantaire’s chest, and the other finds its way to Enjolras’ waist. He manages to delicately undo the button of his jeans while shoving his tongue down Grantaire’s throat. Enjolras is kind of impressed with his multitasking. 

Grantaire returns to Enjolras, who proceeds to palm Grantaire’s dick through his jeans, and then uses both hands to get the button open and his zipper undone. He barely has time to get his fingers into the waistband of his boxers when Grantaire puts a hand under his ass and scoops him up from the countertop. He continues to kiss him as he carries him onehanded. He presses Enjolras’ back against the wall near the door. When Grantaire breaks away and Enjolras opens his eyes, he finds that Grantaire’s other hand is around Mont’s waist. 

After a short kiss, Mont gets on his knees next to Grantaire. Grantaire nearly drops Enjolras to the ground at the sight of him. Enjolras catches himself before dropping to join Mont on the floor. Mont leans in and kisses him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Enjolras starts working on the buttons of Mont’s shirt. He gets all of them undone before Grantaire makes an impatient noise above them. Enjolras grins against Mont. He knows this game- they’ve been playing it for weeks. It’s just too easy to rile up Grantaire. 

Mont works his way into Enjolras’ jeans and manages to get a hand around him. Enjolras’ breath catches in his throat, and Mont uses the opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth. Enjolras’ hands grab at Mont’s waist, now bare save for the shirt loosely hanging around him. Mont’s fingers are delicate, teasing up and down his length. 

He feels a hand in his hair, pulling hard. And it is definitely not Mont. He’s dragged away from Mont’s mouth by force, and he lets out a yelp. But he doesn’t mind- they’ve pushed Grantaire just the right amount. 

Mont’s hand retreats from Enjolras and makes equally quick work of pulling Grantaire’s cock from his boxers. He leans forward and licks slowly up his length. Grantaire shivers. The hand in Enjolras’ hair tightens. Enjolras looks up at him through his eyelashes and smiles. He joins Mont, tracing his tongue along the vein in his cock. Grantaire braces himself against the wall above them. 

The two on their knees make eye contact. They know what Grantaire wants, but it’s so much more fun to not give it to him. At least not right away. Besides, Enjolras realizes, they’ve never been able to properly do this before. They’ve teased in the past, sure. But this time there’s no chance of anyone walking in on them, no where they have to be. They are completely at each other’s disposal for the first time. 

So they draw it out. They lick and kiss and press careful fingers anywhere they can but they don’t take him in their mouths. It’s torture, Enjolras can tell by the way Grantaire shakes above them, and he loves it. Enjolras almost thinks Grantaire might come in spite of their teasing. 

“Bed,” Grantaire snaps when he can’t take it anymore. Mont snickers as they get to their feet. He leads the way through the suite, the only one who knows where he’s going.

They follow him up the gorgeous staircase, stopping to kiss and pull hair and tug clothing articles off along the way. Finally, they stumble into the first of two doors at the top. Enjolras actually stops at the sight of the huge room. 

The four-poster bed is definitely bigger than a California King- which he didn’t know was possible. It’s covered in pillows and the duvet alone looks more expensive than a semester of his tuition. At the foot of the bed is a small velvet settee, which faces a beautiful oak dresser with a mirror placed above it. The windows are equally as impressive as the one’s downstairs. 

Before he can cross to the bed, a hand grips his wrist. 

“Get on your knees,” Grantaire growls at him. Mont and Enjolras exchange a look. They drop to the floor next to each other.

“You want to play?” Grantaire asks them dangerously. He strokes himself. “We’ll see how funny you think this is,” he says. He takes his cock and presses it against Enjolras’ cheek. He opens his mouth obediently. 

Grantaire is merciless. He grabs a fistful of Enjolras’ hair as he fucks into him. Enjolras looks up at him, opening his throat to take all of Grantaire. Not that he much choice in the matter, with the way Grantaire is thrusting into him. Grantaire grips his curls tighter, and his eyes water. His only reprieve is when he switches to Mont, being equally as rough with his counterpart. 

At some point in his second go with Grantaire’s dick in his mouth, nimble fingers find his own cock. Mont strokes him, the slowness of it in stark contrast to the harsh rhythm of Grantaire in his mouth. He can’t help the choking noises that escape him. He reaches over to Mont, and finds him hard. They jerk each other off while Grantaire has his way. 

“You want me to come down your throat, hmm? Do you?” Grantaire demands an answer, and Enjolras moans around his cock in a way that he hopes sounds affirmative. “Too fucking bad,” he answers, pulling out of Enjolras’ mouth with a pop, and Enjolras feels spit trailing down his chin.

Grantaire seems satisfied that they’ve paid the price for their insubordination. Enjolras looks at Mont, who’s already a mess. His lips are red, cheeks flushed, pupils blown. He imagines he looks the same. 

But then he isn’t looking at the Mont. He’s in Grantaire’s arms again, being carried to the bed. Grantaire throws him down, returning only after giving Mont the same treatment. Grantaire flips Enjolras onto his stomach and pulls his hips up and towards him, ass in the air. Mont follows suit of his own accord. The two of them, lined up side by side, engage in a heavy kiss that tastes of Grantaire’s cock. 

“Don’t move,” Grantaire says before going to dig through the drawer of the bedside table. As if either of them would have dared. Instead they continue kissing, sloppy with desire. Grantaire climbs on to the bed behind them.

Enjolras whimpers as he feels a finger enter him unceremoniously. Mont pulls away from him sharply, clearly experiencing the same moment of surprise. Grantaire is in no mood to be gentle tonight. 

Grantaire doesn’t wait long to add another finger, but Enjolras takes it because he knows Grantaire’s impatience is his own fault. He is grateful for the copious amount of lube he took from the drawer, though. Grantaire isn’t a monster. 

By the time Grantaire adds a third finger, Enjolras is seriously wishing he’d had more tequila while he’d had the chance. He’s squirming under Grantaire. It’s too much and not enough and it hurts but he needs more. Mont is moaning beside him, and he’s a little bit jealous of how easy Mont is- or at least how easy he makes it look. When Mont kisses him, he focuses on it, trying to concentrate on something else. It helps. 

And then Grantaire’s fingers are gone but Mont’s mouth stays firm and needy. He licks his way into Enjolras’ mouth. The tension melts away from Enjolras’ body. 

That is, until Grantaire shoves the head of his cock into Enjolras. A noise escapes him that sounds more pained than he would’ve liked. Grantaire has a hand on his hip, holding him in place. He gives him time to adjust before slowly pushing further inside of him. Grantaire’s hips stutter a little, as if he can barely hold himself back, but he does. When he’s finally flush against Enjolras’ ass, he breathes out. He starts moving inside Enjolras, painfully slow. He leans over Enjolras’ body, using the hand that was on his hip to steady himself against the mattress. 

“You’re so fucking tight, you know that?” He says in Enjolras’ ear. Enjolras moans at the same time as Mont. He looks over, and Grantaire is using his free hand to jerk Mont off. Grantaire pushes himself back into a kneeling position. It’s not long before he pulls out. 

Enjolras feels empty without Grantaire inside him. He focuses on Mont’s movement next to him. He enjoys playing this little game with himself, guessing how it feels or what’s happening based only on Mont’s reactions. 

Soon Grantaire is inside him again. He gives Enjolras another moment to adjust, but it’s shorter this time. He’s more aggressive, already thrusting with more intention. Enjolras shifts his hips, and Grantaire is able to go even deeper. Just when he hits the perfect spot, he pulls out and he’s in Mont within seconds. Enjolras is rock hard and aching to be fucked. He’d beg for it, if he’d thought it would help. It wouldn’t. Plus, Mont would make him regret it later. 

Grantaire pulls out of Mont and Enjolras takes a breath of anticipation. But instead of Grantaire shifting towards him, he flips him over onto his back and hooks his hands under his knees, dragging him towards the edge of the bed. Grantaire pulls Mont to his feet so they’re both standing above him. 

“I want you to fuck him,” Grantaire says in Mont’s ear, still loud enough that Enjolras can hear. Mont’s eyes graze over Enjolras’ body, appraising. When they make eye contact, Mont grins. Mont takes his own cock in hand, and Enjolras pulls his knees up. Mont guides himself into Enjolras, who breathes out under him. There’s no moment to adjust this time. Grantaire’s hands go to Mont’s hips, guiding his thrusts. 

“Slower,” he demands, and Enjolras feels the eager movements become more measured. He wants more, wants it faster, harder. But Mont and Enjolras had their fun, and now it’s Grantaire’s turn. 

“Put your hand here,” Grantaire takes one of Mont’s hands and places it on Enjolras’ thigh, giving him better leverage. 

“Like this,” Grantaire says, and the Enjolras feels the angle change. He gasps. “Yeah, there you go,” Grantaire is urging him on, letting Mont gain speed again. Enjolras pushes himself down onto Mont’s cock. His own erection is nearly painful, and he desperately wants to stroke himself, but he knows from experience that Grantaire would stop him. 

“I want you to come in him,” Grantaire tells Mont, as if Enjolras’ isn’t even there. Mont swallows hard, nodding. He picks up his speed, and Enjolras is needy beneath him. Grantaire whispers quiet encouragement in Mont’s ear, but Enjolras can’t hear it over the sound of his own moans. 

“Go ahead, that’s it,” Grantaire says, as Mont bottoms out inside Enjolras, his cock twitching. His orgasm hits him hard and fast, his thrusts stopping immediately. Mont breathes heavily above him. When he finally and agonizingly pulls out, Enjolras squirms. The lack of any stimulation is killing him, his cock flush against his stomach, his arousal an aching need. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Grantaire murmurs as he runs the pad of his thumb against Enjolras’ opening. He’s literally dripping with Mont’s come, and that might embarrass him if he wasn’t so distracted by his own need. Mont flops down on the bed next to Enjolras, spent. He gives Enjolras a lazy kiss, the antithesis of how he’s feeling. 

“Do you want to be fucked?” Grantaire asks quietly. Enjolras can’t find his words. He stares at him, wide eyed, nods. “You want me to make you come?” Grantaire is egging him on. Enjolras knows that Grantaire wants to come as badly as he does. He nods yes anyway. “Are you going to ask nicely?”

“Oh, just fuck him,” Mont rolls his eyes next to Enjolras. Grantaire doesn’t look amused, but he lines himself up. When he pushes into Enjolras, it’s effortless this time. Probably from having Mont already fuck him half senseless, even if Grantaire’s bigger. 

“It’s easier when you’re already full of come, isn’t it, baby?” Grantaire asks above him, fully seating himself inside Enjolras. Enjolras blushes a deep red. He’s saved from forming a response, because Grantaire does not waste time. He’s fucking Enjolras properly, not holding back any longer. 

He shifts his hips like he had instructed Mont to earlier, and _fuck,_ it’s good. Enjolras is murmuring a string of inane swears and meaningless words, except for when Mont is kissing him. 

“Jerk him off,” Grantaire tells Mont. Grantaire's hands are otherwise occupied, one steadying Enjolras' hip and the other using the bed post for leverage. When Mont finally takes Enjolras’ cock in his hand, he knows he won’t last much longer. He bites his lip, his orgasm building while Grantaire bears down on him. With a few heavy strokes from Mont, Enjolras’ arousal peaks and he comes in thick spurts across his stomach. Enjolras pants while Grantaire continues to drive into him. His body starts to go limp and pliable against his will, his oversensitivity after orgasm quickly setting in. His breath is going ragged when Grantaire’s hips stutter. He pumps into him twice more before coming with a guttural noise. Enjolras’ legs shake while he waits for Grantaire to pull out. 

Enjolras is left feeling wrecked on the edge of the bed while Grantaire disappears through the door in the corner of the room- presumably the bathroom. Mont is still next to him, his eyes closed but a content smile on his face. 

Enjolras tries to get himself together. He stops shaking, his breath evening out. He becomes unpleasantly aware that he’s full of come. Grantaire returns from the bathroom. 

“Shower?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire smirks at the mess he’s made of him. And on him. 

“In there,” he points to the door he’s just come out of. “Need any help?” He asks suggestively. Mont laughs, eyes still closed where he lays on the bed.

“Yeah, like you can rebound that quick,” Mont mocks.

Enjolras carefully stands and makes his way to the shower, the two of them continuing to bicker in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is already written and will be up later this week! Please feel free to comment, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

When Enjolras is fairly sure he’s come free, he gets out of the shower. He towels off and goes in search of his discarded clothes. Mont and Grantaire are no longer in the bedroom when he passes through it, spotting his boxer-briefs just outside the door. He puts them on, finding his jeans a third of the way down the staircase. He hears the two of them talking in the kitchen. His shirt is on the floor by kitchen door, and he pulls it over his head as he joins the other two. 

Mont has resumed his place at the island. Grantaire has a new wine bottle and is leaning against the sink, having either lost or neglected his shirt.

“Tequila, please,” Enjolras says, taking both of them in. Grantaire sets down the bottle and goes about pouring him another drink. Enjolras isn’t sure how Grantaire became their makeshift bartender, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to show his inexpertise on the subject. 

“For once, you’re right on time,” Mont says as Enjolras accepts his drink from Grantaire. He takes a sip. It’s stronger than the last, and he’s glad for it. He turns to Mont to ask what he means. 

He doesn’t have to, because only now does Enjolras realize Mont’s laid out three lines of coke on the marble in front of him. 

“Surprised it took you this long,” Enjolras says. He’s only partaken a few times, since Mont only started pushing it on him recently. But he’s pretty sure Mont has been high every time they’ve fucked since day one. 

“We have all night, no rush for once,” Grantaire says, taking a swig from his bottle. Enjolras can’t help but think how weird this all is. 

“No time like the present,” Mont says and does a line. Grantaire chokes on his wine laughing. Enjolras just raises his eyebrows. “Who’s next?” Asks Mont, running a finger under his nose. Grantaire wanders over, leaning down to take the second line laid out. He stands up, blinking a few times. He shakes his head like a dog shaking off water. 

“Woah,” is all he offers. Mont turns to look at Enjolras. Enjolras doesn’t particularly want to. He’s fine with his tequila. But he knows Mont isn’t asking. He figures one line can’t hurt. He’s done worse in the last few weeks. 

He approaches the island, leans over, and covers one nostril like he’s seen Mont do a hundred times. He’s always afraid he’ll make a mistake, show that he hasn’t done this before, show that he hasn’t really done _any_ of this before. But no one says anything so he assumes he’s doing an alright job. Mont would never let him live it down if he wasn’t. 

The coke enters his blood stream almost instantly. His nose goes numb, and he resists the urge to shake his head like Grantaire did. He laughs. 

“Fuck,” he swallows, his entire body humming. 

“You wanna?” asks Grantaire. His arms loop around Enjolras’ waist. 

\---

Enjolras is only starting to surface from the haze god-knows-how-many-hours later. He thinks it’s probably three or four in the morning, but he doesn’t trust himself. He’s taken two more lines since the first one, or at least he remembers two more. And he’s been taking shots of tequila like Courf on a bad night.

So it’s not exactly surprising when he finds himself half naked and dancing on the glass coffee table with a mostly empty fifth of Casamigos in his hand. He absently wonders if he’s the one who drank all of it. The lights are dim, and something slow with a heavy bass is blaring from unseen speakers. The room feels like a very expensive version of the club’s VIP Lounge. 

Mont is dancing next to him. He takes the bottle out of Enjolras’ hand and takes a messy gulp. Enjolras is relieved someone else is helping him drink it. Grantaire is looking plastered, laid out on the velvet chaise across from them, his eyes glued to Enjolras. 

Enjolras feels invincible. Or like he might throw up, but he probably won’t because, yeah, he’s _fucking invincible._

Mont’s hands are on his hips. He presses his ass against Mont’s crotch, grinding down. He laughs, snatches the tequila back and drinks. Grantaire groans, watching his lips around the bottle. Enjolras grins something wicked. 

He catches his reflection in the window. He wonders if anyone can see them all the way up here. They’d be a sight, dancing on the table like this. 

“Enj, come here,” Grantaire asks, his eyes roaming the dancer’s body. 

Enjolras hops off the table, but not before Mont snags the bottle back. He sits next to Grantaire, looking at him expectantly. 

“No, I just,” Grantaire doesn’t meet his gaze, “I meant,” he gestures towards Mont vaguely. Enjolras is too drunk for charades. Grantaire tries again. “I meant, dance for me.” 

Enjolras laughs. “You know you have to pay me for that, right?” 

“I’ll pay you for it, alright,” Grantaire insinuates. Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he gets up. He dances for a living, and half the patrons he dances for don’t tip anyway. What’s one lap dance for the guy he’s fucking?

The song changes, and Enjolras starts slow. He moves his body easily, swaying his hips to the rhythm. He’s already shirtless, there’s not much need to strip. He turns around, moves closer to Grantaire. He sits in his lap, legs on either side of Grantaire’s, his back to Grantaire’s chest. He grinds his ass down on Grantaire’s lap. Putting an arm up, he grazes the side of Grantaire’s cheek with his fingertips. He doesn’t stop him when he puts his hands on his hips. 

Mont is still dancing on the table, but he’s glaring at Enjolras. He doesn’t look pleased at this development, but he doesn’t move to stop it either. Nor does he join Enjolras, which is what he would’ve expected. 

Grantaire slips two fingers into the waist of Enjolras’ jeans, and he takes his cue. He stands, strips them off as smoothly as he can in his inebriated state, and continues to dance in his black boxer-briefs. Grantaire looks blissed out. 

Enjolras is on autopilot. The dance is the same as thousands of others he’s given. Even the hand in his hair- something he normally wouldn’t allow from a client- doesn’t jar him back to reality. Something in his chest feels heavy, his movements sluggish. He’s on the comedown, and it’s not sitting well with him. 

When the song ends, Mont steps down from the table. 

“Another line?” He suggests, and when Enjolras stands to join him, he pretends not to notice Grantaire looking disappointed. 

“You read my mind,” Enjolras says, not bothered by his own willingness at this point. Mont disappears into the kitchen, and Grantaire stands to join them when he returns with a dime bag. He uses Grantaire’s credit card (“Where did you get my- nope, never mind”) to separate three lines on the coffee table. He takes one first, as usual. Grantaire is next, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate this time. 

He stands back up. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. He’s pretty sure his whole face goes numb this time. The immediate difference from the other hits he’s taken tonight is staggering. Uh,” he manages, lifting a hand to his cheek. “What?” He asks, assuming that’s articulate enough to get his message across. 

“Mont,” Grantaire begins carefully. Grantaire’s looking at Mont. Mont’s looking at Grantaire. Enjolras’ body isn’t humming anymore. Instead it feels electrified. 

Nobody says anything for a second. Grantaire’s pupils are massive when he turns to Enjolras. “Yeah,” he says, “I think you’re gonna wanna sit down,” he says, which doesn’t make sense, why would Enjolras sit down? He doesn’t want to sit down. He wants to move his body because it feels so fucking _good,_ the music is so loud, it’s surrounding him. But Grantaire is telling him to sit down. Torn between the options, he stays standing still. 

Grantaire turns back to Mont. “You know you have to tell me what that was,” he says, which Enjolras doesn’t understand. 

“Oh my god, it’s fine,” Mont is saying defensively, and Enjolras still isn’t getting it. 

“Mont,” Grantaire says again. 

“Jesus, it was just molly, okay? It was barely laced. Like what’s the big deal? It wasn’t _meth_ or something,” he announces, as if that makes it better. 

“You gave me,” Enjolras turns to him, putting the puzzle pieces together, “you gave me _ecstasy?”_

“Here we go,” Grantaire groans. 

And before he knows what he’s doing, Enjolras is launching himself at Mont. The two of them tumble to the floor, Enjolras pining him down by the shoulders. 

“What the actual _fuck,_ you can’t just give people ecstasy, Mont,” he hears himself yelling. Mont is struggling under him. He manages to get a leg hooked under Enjolras and bucks his hips up. Enjolras loses his grip, and his world is spinning. He realizes that Mont has managed to roll them, holding Enjolras down. Mont’s fingers dig into his wrists, pinned above his head. 

“Jesus Christ, we were doing _coke,_ do you actually give a fuck? What is this, amateur hour?” He has blood on his lip, and Enjolras thinks his knuckle collided with it when they fell to the floor. 

“Okay, seriously, it’s fine,” Grantaire is saying helplessly, somewhere above them. He doesn’t move to stop them, though. Enjolras wonders what they look like to him. 

“It is absolutely not fine,” Enjolras says. In the back of his mind, he knows it’s low on the list of fucked up activities he’s taken part in over the last few weeks. But he resents that Mont took the choice away from him. 

“You wouldn’t have done it if I’d told you what it was,” Mont says, tightening his grip on Enjolras’ wrists. 

“Exactly!” Enjolras bucks his hips up like Mont did to him, but he’s unsuccessful. Enjolras is surprised by Mont’s strength. They’re nearly the same height, and they’re both wiry. But Mont has the upper hand. Enjolras grapples anyway. 

“Squirmy little thing,” Mont quips, smirking at him like holding him down is the easiest thing in the world. Enjolras almost manages to get one hand pulled free, but Mont pins it again. “You’re not going anywhere,” he taunts. 

“Fuck you,” Enjolras scowls, but he’s losing some of his bite. Mont is so warm against him, his entire body against his own. Enjolras stops trying to fight back.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mont laughs as Enjolras goes limp under him. “It’s hard to be angry when you’re on molly, babe,” the last word sounding absolutely filthy coming out of his mouth. 

“That’s not fair,” Enjolras says, like they’ve ever played fair before. Without warning, Mont grinds his hips into Enjolras’. “That’s _really_ not fair,” he groans, the friction between them rough and overwhelming. 

Sensations overtake Enjolras. Mont’s fingers gripping his wrists hard enough to leave bruises, one of Mont’s legs between his, their chests heaving against each other with the exertion of fighting. He closes his eyes, breathes in. 

Mont’s kissing him. And it’s good. It’s really fucking good. He lets him slide his tongue into his mouth as he moves his hips in time with Mont’s. 

“I’m still mad at you,” Enjolras says against his lips, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. 

“I know,” Mont says in his ear, before trailing messy kisses and the occasional bite down Enjolras’ neck. 

Mont finally has to let go of Enjolras’ wrists when he makes his way down his chest, but Enjolras doesn’t pull away. Instead, he whines under him as Mont grazes his nipple with his teeth, teasing. 

Which is when he opens his eyes to see Grantaire standing above them, upside-down from his vantage point. He’s gaping at the two on the floor, and it occurs to Enjolras that he’s watched this entire encounter. Enjolras also notices he’s hard, his cock straining against his jeans. 

“This,” Grantaire starts, stunned, “is easily the most dysfunctional shit I’ve ever been a part of. And that’s saying something.” 

“You’re a really shitty bouncer if that’s how you stop a fight, by the way,” Enjolras says, and Mont laughs against his hipbone. 

“Maybe I didn’t want to stop it,” Grantaire says, watching as Mont slides Enjolras’ Calvin Klein’s off. Enjolras is already hard when Mont takes him in his mouth. 

_“Jesus Christ,”_ Grantaire mutters under his breath, seemingly content to watch this go down for the moment. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Mont says, popping off Enjolras’ cock. 

“How, original,” Enjolras tries to say between heavy breaths as Mont continues to work his way down his length. 

And then Grantaire is out of his sightline, and Mont is being dragged bodily to his feet. Grantaire offers Enjolras a hand, and he takes it. When he stands, the room spins around him. He swallows, blinks, tries to right the world. Grantaire eyes him warily, but is kind enough not to say anything. 

Grantaire pushes Mont towards the chaise, and Enjolras follows, _definitely_ not tripping over his own feet in the process. He joins the two of them, himself and Mont on either side of Grantaire. 

They quickly dissolve into a puddle of limbs and mouths and roaming fingers. Someone is trailing a hand up and down Enjolras’ bare chest, and it occurs to him that he never wants to stop being touched this way. He never wants to stop feeling this way, like everything in the world is exactly where it should be. Including himself. 

He’s kissing Grantaire, and it’s filthy and messy and he loves it. He has a hand around Grantaire’s cock, stroking lazily. His other hand is in Mont’s hair, who’s deep in the process of giving Grantaire a hickey. He’s the only one that’s fair game for leaving marks (as long as they can be hidden by a suit), and the two dancers like to make good use of that. 

After an unquantifiable amount of time spent touching each other, Grantaire stands and leads them to the windows. 

“We have an exhibitionist on our hands,” Mont says. 

“Mont, _we’re strippers.”_ Enjolras reminds him. 

“Bend over,” Grantaire tells them, and neither of them think twice. 

Enjolras’ ass is sore from earlier, but it’s already fairly open. Grantaire takes out the little bottle of lube he pocketed earlier and starts with two fingers. It hurts, but not unbearably. In return, Grantaire takes his time opening up the two boys. He’s almost gentle with Enjolras, pressing his fingers into him, taking a long time to add a third. There’s no rush in the movements, as if he’s savoring it.

Mont and Enjolras spend most of the time making out with each other, murmuring swears into each other’s mouths when Grantaire brushes just the right spot. 

When Grantaire feels satisfied, he removes his fingers and lines himself up against Enjolras. Enjolras has begun to notice he’s always first. He wonders if Mont has noticed. He wonders why. 

“Do you want it?” Grantaire asks, and it sounds less like his usual filthy babbling and more like a genuine question. 

“Please,” Enjolras breathes, and braces a hand against the window. 

Grantaire pushes into him slowly. There’s no need this time, Enjolras doesn’t need to adjust to the intrusion. Grantaire is doing it for pure pleasure. He moves slow but firm, his efforts exacted. Enjolras pushes his ass against Grantaire so that he bottoms out. Grantaire gives a breathless laugh. 

He takes his time, moving between the two of them. All of their movements are unhurried. Whether it be from the drugs or the alcohol or the fact that they’ve already fucked multiple times tonight, Enjolras doesn’t care. This almost gentleness isn’t something they’ve explored before, and he’s in no mood to end it too soon. 

Eventually Grantaire begins to pick up speed, and he can tell Mont is getting twitchy next to him. Enjolras has to admit that he wants more, as well. Grantaire starts to fuck them both in earnest, and Enjolras needs to use both hands to brace himself against the window to keep from falling forward. He looks out over the city, and briefly notices the first hint of light outside. He wonders for the second time tonight if anyone can see them. He doesn’t care.

“Come on,” Grantaire grunts after pulling out of Enjolras. He takes him by the waist and hauls him over towards the chaise until he’s standing in front of it. “Mont, sit,” he directs, placing him in front of Enjolras on the plush velvet. He puts a firm hand between Enjolras’ shoulder blades, pushing him forward so he’s bent at the waist again. 

And Enjolras, a little slow on the uptake thanks to whatever the fuck is coursing through his system, catches onto Grantaire’s designs. His face is in Mont’s lap, so he takes Mont’s cock in his mouth at the same time Grantaire grabs him by the hips. He enters Enjolras, causing him to moan around Mont’s cock. Mont’s hand flies to Enjolras’ curls, gripping fiercely. 

Enjolras barely has time to brace an arm on the chaise before Grantaire starts to fuck. Really, properly, fuck. And Enjolras has absolutely no control over the rhythm in which he’s being pushed onto Mont now. With each of Grantaire’s thrusts, he’s shoved forward until he’s nearly gagging. It would probably be uncomfortable if Grantaire didn’t feel so fucking good. 

The sound of skin against skin is overwhelming, especially with Enjolras’ moans stifled by the cock in his mouth. 

“You like that, baby? You like being used like this?” Grantaire is asking, his typical string of filthy questions spewing out of his mouth. Enjolras isn’t sure he knows what he’s saying. He slaps Enjolras’ ass, hard enough to sting. Enjolras chokes around Mont’s cock. “You want that pretty boy to come down your throat? Come on, Mont, I want to see you,” he’s going on, fucking relentlessly. 

And that’s what it takes, because without warning Mont is coming with a cry, and Enjolras is swallowing the best he can, despite Grantaire continuing to viciously fuck into him. When Mont’s orgasm subsides, he manages to extract himself from Enjolras’ mouth. The blonde has come dripping from his bottom lip. 

Grantaire wraps a hand around Enjolras, stroking his length in time with his thrusts. Enjolras is gasping, the sensation taking over his entire body. Mont’s hand is still in his hair. He can feel the pressure building steadily in his stomach.

“Come on baby, come for me, just for me,” Grantaire is babbling behind him, and Enjolras’ pleasure reaches its height. He’s spills over Grantaire’s hand. 

When he starts to come down from his orgasm, he needs both arms against the velvet in front of him to keep himself standing. He’s already oversensitive from being fucked earlier tonight, and now being driven into after this last orgasm is almost too much. He whines into the velvet, squirming against Grantaire’s incessant thrusting. 

It’s almost a relief when Grantaire comes in him with a grunt. Enjolras holds himself as steady as he can, letting Grantaire fill him. After a long moment, Grantaire pulls out, and Enjolras nearly collapses onto the floor. He manages to make it onto the chaise next to Mont, instead. 

“Wow,” he says after the three of them have been lying there in different states of disarray for a while. 

“Yeah,” says Grantaire, equally as dazed. 

“You should be thanking me,” Mont says, sitting up. “It was only that good because of the ecsta-“

“Shut up,” Enjolras tells him. “You’re ruining it.” Mont flops back down with a sigh. 

The light is coming in steadily from the windows now. Enjolras is glad Mont happened to pick a day when he doesn’t have any classes tomorrow. He doesn’t even have work. For once he can just go home, finish his homework, and sleep off what is bound to be a nasty hangover. 

Enjolras thinks about getting up to shower. Maybe falling asleep in that massive bed upstairs. He wonders if either of his companions are thinking the same. He’s pretty sure he’s starting to come down from the high (the real one, not just the sex one), but it’s not as bad as it was earlier. 

He looks across the chaise. Mont’s back is to him, and he’s curled in around himself. His chest rises and falls evenly. Enjolras turns his head to look at Grantaire is on his other side. Grantaire's arm is wrapped around Enjolras' waist. His eyes are closed as well, breathing steady. Enjolras is pretty sure he’s sleeping. 

He thinks again about a shower, the plush bed upstairs. Then he looks down at the arm around his waist. 

He closes his eyes. The shower can wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and taking part in my depraved strange little world! As always, please feel free to comment and/or critique- or let me know if there's anything you're just dying to see our boys get up to.


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